There is a cellist 
in the garden
practicing that one piece
about a swan.
Nearby, a swan glides
forward and back
across the pond
between the cattails
and the bulrush.
She focuses on her technique,
less bow pressure
staying close to the fingerboard.
And the floating swan,
she nods in rhythm,
fluid in her liaisons,
to avoid harsh changes in direction.
Taps and Ratamacues 
That is gorgeous. And funnily enough, I’m listening to some cello music as I read this.
Thanks for reading. Glad you found it enjoyable…and ironic. š
Most definitely! I really enjoy your work.